


Everybody's Pickin' Up On That Feline Beat

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, possibly an unreasonable amount of cats, that's a lie there's no such thing as an unreasonable amount of cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: If he’s being honest, Bellamy didn’tintendon becoming the neighbourhood’s cat lady at the age of twenty-eight, it justhappened.





	Everybody's Pickin' Up On That Feline Beat

**Author's Note:**

> BFF fill for the prompt: replace sadness w happiness: au where clarke and bellamy meet b/cos clarke is working at an animal shelter and bellamy keeps adopting animals and she's like,,, r u o?k?

If he’s being honest, Bellamy didn’t  _ intend  _ on becoming the neighbourhood’s cat lady at the age of twenty-eight, it just  _ happened _ .

(According to Miller it’s because he never learnt how to deal with crushes very well which, that’s so not fucking true so shut your mouth  _ Nathan _ .)

When he was growing up, Bellamy’s sister always wanted a dog, one of those big breeds like a german shepherd or a rottweiler. Of course, living in a tiny two bedroom apartment in the middle of the city did not make that the most feasible idea, especially when purebreds like those usually went for a couple hundred dollars.

So instead their mom got Octavia a goldfish for her eighth birthday which she hated and Bellamy ended up taking care of it until it mysteriously disappeared four months later.

(Octavia claims that she didn’t have anything to do with it but knowing his sister, she probably flushed it down the toilet in the middle of the night.)

Bellamy never really considered himself a pet guy until about a year and a half ago when he moved back to the city on his own. All his life he’s had his sister or a roommate of some sort but now he’s on his own and after a couple of months he realised that he was, well,  _ lonely _ .

So he decided to invest some time into looking at the pros and cons of adopting a pet and researching various shelters in his area.

It took him about three months during which he compiled an honest to god binder full of information of various mixed breeds, the best shelters, pet care stores and vets, but he finally did it.

As far as names go,  _ Furry Tails _ is-- questionable at best.

When he first saw the name pop up on Facebook he thought it was another one of those weird kink groups, but the profile picture was a kitten and after a minute of hesitation, he clicked the link and was pleasantly surprised to find out that not only was it a shelter, but it was a no kill organisation that adopted animals that were to be put down.

So that was  _ right  _ up his alley.

He jots it down in his planner to head over on the weekend, so he makes sure to wake up bright and early Saturday morning to do just that.

The bell above the door jingles when he pushes it open and he steps inside. The front of the store is pretty cute, with your standard pet items and kitschy pet related decor, like the dachshund shaped plant holder and the classic cat themed grandfather clock that hangs behind the counter. There’s a door next to the counter, a silhouette of a dog and cat pasted onto the pane of frosted glass and the sign hanging above it says you have to be accompanied by an employee beyond this limit.

No one is there at the front so Bellamy takes his time to go through the pet supplies instead. He hasn’t bought much, just a food bowl and a bed, but the brightly coloured toys catch his attention.

He’s looking at a toy rat that claims to have catnip in it when someone clears their throat behind him and he jumps.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Bellamy blinks, looking down at the girl who interrupted him. She’s got blonde hair that has streaks of pink in it cropped close to her shoulders with a tiny stud in her nose that glints in the overhead lighting and he can see the barest hints of a tattoo creeping out from under the collar of her shirt. She’s looking up at him, face open and friendly, and the smudge of kohl around her eyes make the blue in them pop.

Bellamy swallows.

“Um, hi.”

“Hi,” she says again, rocking forward on her heels. “Everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Just waiting for someone to take me to the back,” he says, jerking his head towards the sign.

“You here to adopt?”

“Thinking about it, yeah.”

“Dog or cat?”

“Cat,” he says firmly, and she cocks her head to the side. “I’m a high school teacher,” he explains, “I feel like a cat is a better fit for my lifestyle than a dog. Plus I live in an apartment.”

“Cats  _ are  _ pretty self-sufficient,” she nods. “Anything in particular you’d like? Male or female, colour choices…?”

“Not really,” says Bellamy with a shrug, “I heard cats are pretty picky so whichever one takes to me I guess.”

The girl grins at him and it throws him off kilter for a second. She’s really, really  _ cute _ .

“Okay great, well I can take you to the back if you’d like, or you could wait for Lincoln or Luna. Up to you.”

“Lincoln and Luna?” he asks, confused.

“They’re the actual owners of the shelter,” she tells him, “So they’re the ones who’ll actually go through the whole adoption process with you.”

“Right. And who are you?” he asks, squinting at her. He assumes that if she was an employee she would be wearing something other than leggings and an oversized Led Zeppelin t-shirt with a knot at the waist that exposes the barest sliver of skin.

She doesn’t really seem phased by the question. “Clarke, I’m the in house vet that sometimes moonlights as a pet groomer.”

“Oh?” he looks her over with renewed eyes and she bites back a smirk. At first glance she doesn’t seem like a vet-- she looks like a college student if he’s being completely truthful-- but upon looking closer he sees the faint scratch marks on her arms, that the tattoo was a line of tiny paw prints on her collarbone, and it just makes sense. Judging from the smirk she tries to hide, she probably gets this a lot, so he sticks out his hand and says, “I’m Bellamy.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says as she leads him to the back, “Let’s get you a new furry friend, shall we?”

The shelter itself is far larger than he thought, split into mostly cats and dogs but he sees a couple other animals like fish, hamsters, and even some turtles.

In the cat room he promptly heads towards the end, where the older cats are housed, to start looking. He remembers reading online that the older an animal, the less likely it becomes adopted and Bellamy, well, he happens to have a soft spot for things that no one else seems to want.

So of course he’s immediately drawn to a dark grey striped cat that’s missing part of its ear. The information card is mostly bare but it says that it’s a she, roughly two and a half years old and that she doesn’t take well to strangers.

Judging from the way she peers at him disinterestedly with dark green eyes he can agree that that may be partially true.

“Does she have a name?” he asks Clarke, who’s busy cooing at the kittens up front. He sticks a finger through the metal bars and the cat leans forward to sniff it before slapping at it with the pads of her paws.

“Nope,” she says, coming over to watch them. “We don’t name them because that might cause us to get attached.”

“And what happens if you get attached?” he asks, only half paying attention. The cat seems to be warming up to him a little, gnawing at his fingers gently.

She shrugs. “You probably end up either crying in the storage room when they get adopted or adopting them yourself. This is why Lincoln has like, six dogs and a cat by the way. Luna just has a bunch of fish.”

“And how much do you have?”

“Just one,” she says, smiling wryly. “And I adopted him before I started working here. Her name is Madi.”

Bellamy snorts. “Who names a cat  _ Madi _ ?”

“I do,” she sniffs before pulling out her phone to show him pictures. Madi is a stout little tabby with an orange coat and an affinity for boxes, judging from all of Clarke’s pictures. “It’s short for Madison.”

“That’s even worse.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a dick?”

“All the time,” he grins, and is pleased when she grins back.

“I’m guessing you’re gonna take this one?” she asks, jerking her chin towards the cat. “Or do you want to look around a bit more?”

Considering the cat was now letting Bellamy scratch her under her chin while purring loudly, he did not, and he tells her as much.

Clarke suggests taking her out of the cage and letting them play in the adjoining room while she goes to find Lincoln and Luna, and when she returns, Bellamy is spread out on the floor while his soon to be cat kneads his stomach.

“Oh yeah, you’re definitely getting this one,” she says with a smirk and he finds himself blushing as he scrambles to get up off the floor in the most dignified way.

“Definitely,” he nods before handing her off to Lincoln, a hulking, giant size of a man with an entire sleeve of tattoos who takes her oh so gently. He doesn’t dare to say anything about him though; he’s wearing a tight fitting blue t-shirt with-- what he assumes to be-- the Furry Tails logo on the front, and it exposes his biceps, so Bellamy has no doubt in his mind that Lincoln could crush his head like a watermelon if he felt the need to.

It takes some time to get the paperwork sorted out and he keeps on getting distracted by the cat and then by  _ Clarke  _ holding the cat as she takes her over to the vet bay to give her a final check up.

“Do you have a name in mind for her as yet?” she asks as she palpates her sides. “I wanna make fun of your choices as you did with mine.”

“I only made fun of your choices because they were  _ lame _ ,” he teases, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Uh-huh. As if you can do any better.”

“I can actually,” he says, as he scratches behind her ear. “I’m going to call her Bastet. Bast for short.”

Clarke snorts. “And you call  _ my  _ names dumb.”

“Hey! Bastet is a very regal name I’ll have you know,” he says, and then, as if in solidarity with him, Bast mews, glaring balefully at Clarke who was preparing a syringe of some sort. It was filled with a kind of pink gel.

“Sure.”

They continue to banter back and forth like this until she’s done and all the paperwork is cleared and then he’s heading back home with a cat in hand while Clarke grins at him from the side.

“Good luck,” she tells him, and he shoots her a smile.

“Thanks.”

“If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to pop in,” she says with a smile before adding, “I’m here to help,” and then reaching down and squeezing his hand.

It makes his stomach flip and he’s certain that he’s leaving the shelter, he has the biggest, dopiest smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

As far as Bellamy’s concerned, things are going great. Bastet is a good cat, though, considering that he doesn’t really have much experience to base that on, he’s not quite sure if she’s just exhibiting normal behaviour or if she really is just an exceptionally well behaved cat.

She doesn’t shred his curtains or furniture, knows how to use the litter box, and is fairly content to do her own thing most of the times.

It’s great.

Almost too great.

It’s not that-- he doesn’t want something to go  _ wrong _ , for Bast to get sick or anything like that, he just wishes that she would give him a plausible excuse to pop back into the shelter to ask Clarke for advice.

(So he might have a  _ teensy tiny _ crush on his vet. Sue him.)

Which is why when he wakes up to find a small pool of vomit in the kitchen and Bast uncharacteristically moody one Sunday morning, he’s understandably worried but he also can’t deny that he’s a bit excited to be heading back to  _ Furry Tails _ to see Clarke.

He’s a terrible person, he knows.

They’re surprisingly busy that day and it takes him a couple minutes to find Clarke who’s hanging out with Luna at the grooming corner.

(The grooming corner is named  _ Doggy Style _ which-- does everything have to be suggestively named in this place?)

“You know, I don’t think this is an appropriate name for the shelter’s grooming centre,” he says as he approaches them.

She’s wearing a Rolling Stones tank top with slits in the sides and ripped jeans and Clarke visibly brightens when she sees him.

“I mean come on, Dr Griffin,” he grins, flicking a finger at her nametag as he gets closer, “There are  _ kids  _ here.”

“And that’s precisely why it’s called  _ Doggy Style _ and not something like  _ Wet Pussy _ ,” she shoots back and he barks out a laugh. “Hey Bellamy.”

“Hey Clarke.”

“What brings you around today? Decided that Bastet needs to get a friend? Because we just got some new kittens and lemme tell you, they are the cutest things ever.”

“Charming but no, I have all the cats I could possibly need.”

“Come on, everyone needs some pussy in their life,” she jokes, and he rolls his eyes.

“Lame,” he tells her. “I’m actually here because I think Bast is sick.”

It’s amazing to watch Clarke transform from Clarke, the one filled with witty banter and lewd comments, to Dr Griffin. Her spine straightens and her face gets serious as she pulls on her lab coat before taking him and Bastet over to the vet room for an examination.

“What’s wrong with her?” she asks while pulling on a pair of gloves.

“She was throwing up and she’s not as friendly as she usually is,” he says while petting Bast lightly. She makes a soft ‘mrrp’ sound, tail twitching agitatedly.

Clarke gives her a full exam, and when she’s done, she claims that she has a clean bill of health.

“It’s probably just furballs,” she says as she scratches her under her neck. “Just give her some olive oil every week or so. The moodiness could be because of that or because she might be feeling a bit alone. Have you been out more than usual recently?”

He shifts guiltily. “I’ve been working a bit more; the new semester is supposed to start soon so I’ve been getting my lesson plans and all of that in order.”

“Hey,” she says, soft all of a sudden. She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t feel bad about it. She’s just used to having company all the time here in the shelter that’s all.”

“I know but still.”

Clarke bites her lip. “Well, I was telling the truth when I said we got some new kittens…”

Honestly, it doesn’t take Clarke much persuading on her part to get him to adopt a kitten. It’s a  _ kitten _ . Of course he’s going to want to take it home regardless. He chooses a tawny coloured one that’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and names her Sisyfur, and Clarke spends at least ten minutes making fun of his terrible names.

Another great thing about having a kitten is that it needs check ups every two weeks since she was on the young side which meant he has yet another excuse to see Clarke. Everything all works out in the end.

And that’s how he ends up leaving the shelter with two cats this time.

 

* * *

 

 

Sisyfur and Bastet get along well enough, even if he had to stop Bast from trying to eat Sisy at least twice a week. It’s all good though because just an hour later he spots her curled around the little one, licking her clean and he snaps a picture to send to Clarke.

That’s another thing that recently happened, the texting.

Clarke gives him her personal phone number about a month after he adopted Sisyfur, when he was popping into the shelter and bombarding her with questions almost every other day about how to care for a kitten.

(He did have actual, valid questions and if it meant that he got to see Clarke on a fairly regular basis well, two birds, one stone and all that.)

He’s fairly certain that he annoyed her into giving him her number which is why he has a mild freak out and doesn’t dare use it for almost a whole week until she texts him, ‘ _ how are the cats??? _ ’ and that just gets the ball rolling.

Another thing that happened within the past few months is that Bellamy ends up adopting yet  _ another _ cat.

Purrseus was a long haired ragdoll mix that had more matts than whiskers and more fleas than matts.

The shelter found him hiding out under the dumpster and when Bellamy passed in the evening to pick up some cat toys (and yes, talk to Clarke in person), he grabbed onto his pant leg, purring loud enough to rival a lawnmower and refusing to let go. Lincoln had joked that it was meant to be while Clarke was having the time of her life laughing and taking out a million photos from all sorts of angles.

He goes home with Purrseus of course, once Clarke and Luna clean him up, and before he leaves, Clarke slides him a coupon for 15% off cat litter.

“The old ladies in my apartment unit usually donate these to the shelter but I figured you could use one. You know, considering you’re a budding cat lady now and all that,” she says, smiling at him.

By now the swoosh of his stomach when she smiles at him or touches his hand is familiar, but that in no way lessens the thrill of it all, the butterflies that start sprouting in his stomach.

The fourth cat is more of an accident than an actual adoption.

Catlas just wandered into his apartment, decided he liked it there, and  _ stayed _ .

Bellamy manages to coax him into a carrier with some wet food after a few days and takes him to Clarke, who can’t stop laughing as she checks him out.

“You’re like the cat whisperer or something,” she says, barely containing her mirth.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, cheeks pinking.

“Why? It’s cute,” she says, bumping her hip into his. “You just radiate this energy that cats are attracted to. What else could I say.”

“Big pussy energy,” he nods solemnly, and it has her cracking up all over again until there are tears in her eyes and she can’t help but chortle every few moments at the joke.

Bastet is less than pleased about having her space violated by so many intruders and spends the entirety of the first night yowling. He texts Clarke through it all and for a second he’s worried that he won’t be able to take him, but then he sees them licking each other in a corner and all’s well.

Clarke tells him that Bast is like him in a way, acts like an asshole but in reality is a complete softy and he’s glad that she’s not here to see the way he blushes when he read that.

 

* * *

 

 

At this point four cats are more than enough and Clarke seems to agree. She makes a sign to stick behind the counter and in the employee break room at the shelter that reads ‘this man is not allowed to adopt anymore kittens.’ She even gets it  _ laminated _ .

It not like he kept on adopting cats just to see her-- well okay, maybe a little-- but he did genuinely want all of his pets, Clarke or no Clarke.

Although he has to admit, having Clarke is a nice perk.

They still text, pretty much all the time, talking about their pets to their jobs and she lets Bellamy complain- good naturedly of course- about his students. He still visits the shelter too, to buy toys or to take Catlas to get groomed or to sometimes just play with puppies under the guise of helping them with an adoption drive.

(He helps out with those because Clarke had offhandedly mentioned that when Lincoln was covered in puppies it had garnered them a fair amount of traffic so imagine how much that would increase if there were  _ two  _ hot guys covered in small, baby animals.

She had called him hot, even if it was inadvertently, and it was truly the best moment of his life.)

So yeah, he’s still there, but he’s also not there as much as he’d like to be.

Though, to be honest, him being there is about 90% because of Clarke and 10% the animals and if it was up to him, seeing Clarke every other day still wouldn’t be as much as he’d like.

Bellamy wants to see her everyday, to wake up next to her and make them breakfast and have dumb fights about whose turn it is to wash the dishes.

He has a terribly  _ stupid  _ crush on Clarke Griffin and he’s choosing to hide it by quite literally burying it with cats.

Bellamy never claimed to be competent when it came to human emotions. 

Cats he could handle. They let you know exactly how they feel whenever you do something to them. Humans on the other hand are different. How is he supposed to know if her hand on his shoulder is a sign of friendship or a hint that she too wants to spend evenings cuddled up on the couch while they watch a documentary about ancient wine making methods.

So confusing.

A part of him is worried about what would happen when he runs out of toys to buy, or excuses to pop in with one his cats. Sure, they text each other almost everyday, but they’ve never hung out outside the shelter before. What if they aren’t compatible? What if he spent the past almost six months having this big, dumb crush on her only to realise that they don’t actually work? He’ll never be able to show his face here again which means he’ll have to find a new vet that all of his cats feel comfortable with.

Bellamy’s still spiralling when Clarke finds him, hunched over in the corner as a litter of kittens bat at his shoelaces.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” she says, grinning up at him. “Thought you left.”

Another thing he’s been doing since he realised his stupid crush wasn’t going anywhere was volunteering at the shelter whenever his schedule permits it. At this point he’s pretty cool with Lincoln and Luna and Clarke of course, so they let him wander in whenever he wants, as if he’s their own wayward cat.

“Nah,” he says, trying to a smile but it just comes out tired. “Still here.”

He can understand her surprise; Bellamy’s not usually here this late but he had a rough day at work and he’s fairly certain that principal Wallace has it out for him, so when he finally left the office after five, he dragged himself to the shelter. He’s certain that if anything could cheer him up, it would be a bunch of tiny baby animals and Clarke.

“Lincoln and Luna are almost done closing up, it’s just to put these little guys away,” she says as she bends down to pluck one of the kittens off the ground. They’re all so tiny, nothing more than little balls of fluff, and she cuddles him to her chest. 

“I’ll help you,” he says, and she shoots him a grateful smile.

They manage to corral all of the kittens into a box and he’s helping Clarke put them back in their cage when she says, “We’re going to grab a drink once we’re done here, if you want to come with.”

Bellamy, who up until five seconds ago wanted to do nothing more than head home and collapse on his bed, is suddenly re-energised, feeling like all of his senses are on high alert.

It’s not the first time Clarke’s invited him out with them, but all the times before were on school nights or when he had a stack of grading to wade through. Tonight however is Friday and he doesn’t have anything overly pressing to finish this weekend which is why he finds himself saying, “I’d like that.”

They go to Dropship, a dive bar down the street and he and Clarke split a basket of cheesy fries while Lincoln and Luna argue about which tv dog is the best.

(Lincoln insists it’s Beethoven, the large St Bernard from that one movie Bellamy faintly remembers from his childhood while Luna is going hard for Marley, from Marley and Me. Meanwhile both he and Clarke are on team Cheddar from Brooklyn Nine Nine. It’s a very competitive debate.)

Lincoln leaves sometime around 8pm and Luna follows about twenty minutes after, and then it’s just him and Clarke. They split another basket of greasy bar food, this time onion rings, while she tells him about how she used to be the best at beer pong in college and he tries to not think of this as a date.

“You’re really pretty,” she tells him, poking him in the cheek with a cocktail straw.

He ducks his head, chuckling. “Thanks. You’re pretty cute too.”

“No but like. You’re  _ cute _ ,” she says, gesturing wildly, and he has to lean back to avoid getting his in the face. “You’re a hot guy who looks like an asshole and I mean, you are an asshole, but I’ve also seen you covered in kittens and when I first met you, you wanted to adopt a cat that no one ever even  _ looked  _ at before.”

“I don’t know why,” he says with a frown, “Bastet is a goddess.”

She smiles a bit one-sided and pats his cheek sloppily. “See? So fucking cute.”

“And you’re so fucking drunk.”

“Am not,” she says, louder than was necessary.

“Are too.”

“Am  _ not _ .”

He can’t stop smiling at her. Drunk Clarke is downright adorable, scrunching up her nose and staring up at him through squinted eyes.

“Come on drunky,” he says, plucking two twenties from his wallet and leaving them under his empty beer bottle. “Let’s get you home.”

He vaguely remembers Clarke telling him where she lived before, but at least she’s coherent enough to give him directions, even as she sways into his side.

November is cool, not cold enough to warrant ordering an uber, but it’s not warm either, and Clarke leans into him, leeching off his warmth. He ends up putting his arm around her, holding her close, and he could swear that she lets out a small contented sigh.

It only takes twenty minutes to get to her place, and it’s only a couple blocks away from his. He walks her upstairs and unlocks her apartment for her. He’s never actually been over before, but the place is exactly what he would have pictured for Clarke, bright and airy with lots of natural light during the day. 

Madi is curled up on the couch, and she cracks one eye open when she hears them come in, glaring suspiciously at Bellamy.

He manages to get Clarke all set up for the night, handing her a glass of water and she laughs he leans down to undo her shoes.

“I told you, I’m not drunk,” she murmurs, tugging him back up by the collar of his coat. He stumbles forward, hands landing on her hips and she leans in close.

“I know,” he says, wetting his lips. He can’t help but glance down at her mouth, right there just a few inches from his own. “What can I say, I’m a caregiver.”

She giggles. “That you most certainly are,” she says, running her hands up and down his forearms as she looks up at him, eyes bright and indescribably blue. “Thank you.”

Clarke leans forward, rolling onto her toes and he holds very, very still as she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, not exactly on his lips, but close enough, deliberate enough that his heart starts working in double time, his pulse sounding like a war drum in his ears.

“Goodnight Bellamy,” she whispers before stepping back, and he swallows.

“Goodnight Clarke.”

 

* * *

 

 

He tries to convince himself that the whole thing is just a dream when he wakes up the next morning, that he didn’t go out and get drunk and almost kiss Clarke Griffin last night, but the scent of her perfume still lingers on his coat and he finds a strand of blonde hair stuck to his sweater.

Bellamy tries to ignore it and its implications by cleaning his entire apartment and giving each of his cats baths, much to their displeasure.

It works for the most part, except then he gets a text from Clarke around 4pm asking if she can come over and then he’s spiralling all over again.

He tells her yes of course, and then goes on to vacuum the whole place until he has to buzz her in. It’s only after when he’s shoving the vacuum back in the closet does he realise that he never gave her his address.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Hi,” he says as he lets her in, and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Hi,” she says, and then, as if reading his mind, “I got your address off the adoption forms. Hope it’s not weird or anything.”

“I’m filling out the form to get a restraining order against you this very moment,” he deadpans, and she giggles, and just like that things feel slightly more normal.

Bastet chooses to make an appearance then, rubbing against Clarke’s legs as she meows, no doubt complaining about being forced into the tub earlier today and the others follow suit, and soon enough Clarke is surrounded by a bunch of disgruntled cats and all he can do is laugh.

“Yeah, I’m still trying to get them to understand that not everyone who walks in is going to be their personal sounding board, but no luck,” he says after, when she’s sitting on the couch, a cat curled up at her feet, another on her lap, while the other two sit on the couch with her. She fits right in with him, and Bellamy feels his heart give a squeeze.

“I think it’s cute,” she says as she scratches Sisyfur behind her ear.

“So, uh, what’s up?” he asks, heading into the kitchen under the pretense of grabbing a glass of water. He brings one for her too and she only takes a sip before leaving it on the coffee table.

“I just wanted to-- uh, thank you I guess. For last night.” She’s blushing as she says it, and her eyes are trained firmly on Catlas where she’s running her fingers through his fur.

“It was nothing,” he says, waving it off. “I’d do it for anyone. All my friends tell me that I have a huge mom complex.”

“They’re definitely right about that,” she says wryly, pointedly looking at all of his cats and he laughs. “Still, I wanted to make it up to you. You know, as a thank you or something.”

“You really don’t have to,” he says with a shake of his head.

“I know but-- I was thinking maybe we could go for dinner?” she asks, eyes wide as she finally looks up at him, biting her bottom lip.

Bellamy stills for a moment before saying, very carefully, “As a thank you?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe as a date, but a thank you is fine too,” she says, cheeks going pink and she immediately drops her gaze back down to the cat.

His heart is beating a million times a minute and there’s a voice in his head going  _ oh my god it’s happening okay it’s happening calm down. _

Bellamy swallows thickly.

“Sure, okay,” he says, breezily as he can, as he sits on the couch next to her.

Clarke looks up at him, lips parted slightly.

“I just want to do one thing first,” he says, before, very deliberately reaching over and grabbing a disgruntled Catlas off of her lap and depositing him to the floor. Then, slow enough that she has time to pull away if she’d like, he cups her face in his hands and very, very gently presses his lips to hers.

Clarke kisses back immediately, letting a hand tangle in his hair as she swipes her tongue over his lips and he groans, pulling her closer until she’s almost in his laps, their legs tangled together.

The kiss gets cut short however when Purrseus jumps up and starts needing her leg and they pull apart, breathless and laughing.

“That’s a yes in case you didn’t realise,” he says while she buries her face in her neck, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Good,” she says, squeezing his hand. “But first--”

She tries to kiss him again and again, but each time they end up getting interrupted by cats. It’s equal parts hilarious and completely unsatisfying which is how they end up in Bellamy’s room, all four legged animals locked out as he pulls her back into his arms, finally free of any interruptions.

They end up staying in for dinner, ordering enough Chinese food to feed a small army while watching reruns of The Office in their pyjamas.

Clarke is cuddled into his side, legs thrown over his with the cats perched around them. He hair keeps tickling his nose whenever he turns his head and Sisyfur’s claws are digging into his leg as she sleeps but as he looks over at all of them, Bellamy can say with utmost certainty, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.


End file.
